


Under the Stars When the Sun Doesn’t Shine (Familiarity in a Place We’ve Never Been)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I love them okay, Insecure Sam, M/M, everyone is just tired and stressed pls give them peace, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: Sam’s a gardener.He can’t fight. He’s not too good at this whole survival thing and he can’t help but miss the Shire. What is he doing here?Alternatively; Sam’s a lot more important then he realises.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	Under the Stars When the Sun Doesn’t Shine (Familiarity in a Place We’ve Never Been)

**Author's Note:**

> Vague time-setting. Takes place before the abandonment of the fellowship, but other than that I didn’t really think about it.
> 
> I’m literally, like, fresh out of the womb in this fandom so everything has been left as vague as possible to ensure I don’t screw anything up. I just have a lot of love for these two, and I hope to write more cohesive stuff with them (and others) once I’m more familiarised with everything this beautiful world has to offer.

Sam lies awake, eyes heavy yet unwilling to close under the thudding of his heart. He feels a deep-seated anxiety burning from within his lungs, making every shaking breath an endless torment of homesickness and fear.

Then those thoughts are replaced with the unforgiving sting of guilt. The swirling doubts that cloud his mind like thickened smoke, his feelings of uselessness dragging down the edges of his smiles and dimming the brightness of his eyes.

He knows that he’s not made for fighting, for killing. He’s a _gardener_, for crying out loud. His passion, his love, is for helping things to _grow_. Under his careful hands, seeds and bulbs find themselves blossoming into bursts of bright petals, fresh and sweet and new amongst the sunlight that never seems to leave the Shire. To take away a creatures life, no matter what evil, pitiful monster it may be, is so alien, so bizarre to him that merely the thought of such a thing sends shivers up his spine and quickens the thudding of his heart. Discomfort burns his lungs. He does not like violence, not one bit. But it can’t be avoided out here, there is no choice. 

He’s no good at this, that’s for sure. All the strange big folk, the strange songs and customs and cultures, the noise and fighting and war, it’s nothing like the never ending peace of the Shire. It’s an alien world, something that he could never have dreamed of just a few weeks ago.

So he lies awake, heart in his throat and fists clenched as he holds back his tears.

Everything is so new, so unfamiliar. The pain, the suffering. They’ve barely gotten anywhere and already they’ve found themselves a single hair away from death. Blind luck has gotten them this far and Sam fears his optimism has faded with the sun’s light, leaving the darkness under the stars to creep with thoughts of death and loss and pain. 

He brings his closed fist to his mouth, biting the skin there and willing his hands to stop trembling.

He thinks of Frodo, _his_ master Frodo. The person this is all for. 

He thinks of the ring, it’s power. It’s control. It’s already weighing on Frodo’s mind, even now, even at the beginning of their journey.

He bites his knuckles harder, willing the tears brewing behind his eyes to evaporate in the cold mist of night. 

“Sam.” A voice whispers, soft and sweet and a voice Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. “_Sam_? Are you still awake?” Frodo whispers again, his voice growing ever so slightly in volume.

“Yes, Mr. Frodo… I didn’t mean to wake you sir- I, uh-“ there’s a shifting of sheets, the sound of movement and the careful pattering of someone’s feet against the ground. A hand tentatively reaches out, soft and warm and gentle, coming to rest ever so carefully on Sam’s shoulder.

Frodo sits beside him, heat radiating from the space between their shoulders. Sam is thankful of the dark, for he knows his face must be flushed scarlet.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Frodo asks, ever so tentative. Sam can feel the warmth of his breath brush against his hair, a feeling that sends shivers up his spine. Sam finds himself leaning ever so slightly closer to him, almost on instinct, until their shoulders just barely brush.

The touch feels hot like the log fire that had burned in Baggins End, warm and safe and just like home.

“I’m fine Mr. Frodo. I promise.” He whispers back, his voice only trembling slightly. “It… it’s just a bit hard, t’ get used to, sir. I don’t mean to worry you or nothin’.” Sam wishes, not for the first time, that he didn’t wear his heart so plainly on his sleeve. He feels the guilt curl in his gut. He’s here to protect Mr. Frodo. He’s here to look after him and make sure nothing goes wrong. Yet he can’t even do that. He can’t fight. He can’t protect Frodo from all the hurt that he wished he could. He can do nothing to lessen the weight of the ring, nothing to clear the darkness of shadow that surrounds Frodo in cold mist. He can’t do anything at all and his guilt seems to be overflowing, slipping between his fingers and falling around him in inescapable walls.

“_Oh_, Sam. I feel the same.” Frodo whispers in reply, his hands finding Sam’s own. His breath catches in his throat, his heart shuddering to a halt as Frodo carefully intertwined their fingers. “But I’m glad you’re here, with me. You help me more than you could ever know.” Sam’s heart clenches painfully at the other’s words. He wishes desperately he could believe what he was saying, but he finds his eyes filling with tears, his throat closing up as he chokes on his own breaths.

He sniffs, trying to hide the sound, but the action is futile in the silence of the night. He covers his mouth, turning away from Frodo’s ever glowing warmth.

But Frodo’s hands are there, small in his own and warm on his skin. He leans into him, pushing his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck. 

“I need you, Sam.” He whispers, soft lips ticklish against his skin. “It may be selfish, but I need you.” 

And Sam lets the dam fall. The tears fall, unbidden, cold and salty in the curls of Frodo’s hair. He holds back his sobs for fear of waking the others, but he holds Frodo close, taking in the comfort of the person he trusts with his life.

Frodo is shaking too, ever so slightly. He’s always been much better at hiding his emotions than Sam. He’s got a talent for it, wearing smiles that can meet his eyes near enough. Not like Sam who holds his emotions for the world to see, wears every single thought in the gold of his eyes.

So Sam holds him tight. Arms around him, fingers meshed together, they sit under the gentle twinkling of starlight. 

They cry until there are no tears left to fall, until the fear they feel is lost amidst the gentle warm of one another’s hold. 

Things are dangerous, scary. So unfamiliar and huge. Nothing like the peaceful life in the Shire they had left behind. Insecurities are rearing their ugly heads, doubt and darkness grasping at empty smiles.

But as the two linger in one another’s arms, bodies close and warm and safe, there’s a glimmer of light.

Maybe, later, there will be a time to address the fear that lingers beneath their soft touches, their tentative smiles and shaking breaths. Maybe Sam will find himself being of some use, and maybe Frodo will show him the ways in which he already is. 

But not tonight, not with unsaid feelings lingering so close to the surface, so fresh and new and uncertain.

There will be time. 

But for now Sam feels his eyes drift shut, feels the light weight of Frodo against his own body and feels safety seep deep into his bones.

Sleep claims him and, for once, they sleep all through the night. 


End file.
